This summer, I received a great gift in disguise. It was actually received in April when Highway 22 collapsed, but I didn’t realize it was a gift until this summer.

You can read all about my initial reaction to this tragic closure of a main traffic artery here. Traffic came to a stop this summer, and so did the hustle and bustle.

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And it was fabulous.

For those of you unfamiliar with Hwy. 22 near the collapse, it is a parking lot from 7 a.m. to 9 a.m. and then again from 3 p.m. to 7 p.m. I have to turn left out of my neighborhood to go most places and I’ve sat for 10 minutes just waiting for the break in traffic to turn left. Even when I exit, I’m peeling wheels to avoid certain death by oncoming traffic or a good soul has stopped to let me out. There’s no easy, relaxed exit from our neighborhood. Since the road closure, I don’t even tap the brakes coming out of my neighborhood. I just coast out and turn left and go along my business.

Here’s the traffic now, looking right, then left.

Hwy. 22 has become a walking trail for the neighborhoods around it. Every morning it is a freeway of people instead of cars, running, walking, and exploring. There are beautiful creeks and old homes hidden all along this thoroughfare that I never saw for 12 years, mainly because I was speeding down this road or stuck in its traffic.

The neighbors around here have met each other, after years of just walking near our immediate homes. For being a collapsed road and an interruption of transportation, this situation has been a huge connector of people.

By mid-June, we were admitting that we hoped the road would never reopen. Now I am aware that the situation on the other side of the “hole” is much worse and the traffic and roundabout conditions are not ideal. But, this road collapse has turned our neighborhood into a quiet gated community of sorts. We called it our “barrigated” community, with all the barricades surrounding our road. Our children rode their bikes and frolicked on this road all summer. That would be unheard of under any normal circumstance.

Like good Louisvillians, we made the most of the situation. This had also become a nightly excursion, where we took dogs, wagons and cocktails down to the collapse to see the progress. Many a Solo cup has made the trek down to the chasm. Some friends even call this the “party hole,” but I wouldn’t go that far. It was definitely a social situation, though.

This weekend we heard the terrible news that the road was going to open Monday, Aug. 10. We went for one last walk down to the hole to check on the progress and it was packed. The road was paved, but with no guardrails. On the other side of the chasm were…the other people of Highway 22, from the eastern side of the hole. We crossed over the police tape and greeted them. I was waiting for President Reagan to announce “President Gorbachev, tear down this wall!” It was like when people finally saw each other after the Berlin Wall was torn down.

Okay, that’s a little dramatic, but we all enjoyed a hearty laugh about it at the construction site Sunday night.

Tuesday, I awoke to the horrid sounds of traffic. Of progress. Of wheels on the road. I knew the respite was over. Sure, we will be able to get out to the Summit, Springhurst and, most importantly, Graeter’s again quickly. But, I’ll admit, I’m depressed about it. I enjoyed walking the road for the last four months and getting to see all of my neighbors down there too.

Here’s an artsy shot of my daughter standing in the middle of the middle of the great chasm (now repaired).

Party’s over, west side of Hwy 22. Party’s over.

So soon, I’ll be saying “Kids, remember when Highway 22 was a nature trail?”